


Roguish

by sciencefictioness



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Dungeons and Dragons, M/M, Original Character(s), This is not what you were hoping for when you checked your e-mail from AO3 and for that I am sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:57:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: They’re standing in a vast parlor, something that might once have been a ballroom. The marble under their feet is covered in dust.  Littered with chunks of rock, and broken furniture.  A piece of a chandelier, the remnants of a tankard.A disembodied jawbone.  A pile of ribs.  A smattering of bloodstains, one of them smearing off down a hall.Something uneasy settles in his chest, and Elias goes still, and silent.  He reaches back thoughtlessly, muscle memory guiding him, hand closing over Simon’s shoulder.  Reassuring himself that he’s there, a steady presence at his back, and he takes a breath, and lets it out slow.“Hey, it’s empty, right?”  Simon says, picking up on Elias’ discomfort.  “Coven said the points aren’t even here anymore, that this is a goose chase.”“They’re wrong.  They’re definitely here,” Elias says, and knows he right.  He can feel it, the magic calling out to him, a siren’s song.  “And how is that supposed to make me feel better, anyway,” he continues, looking anywhere but at Simon, “if we’d come all this way for nothing?”“Mmm, point.  But if there’s nothing here worth guarding, maybe there’s no guard, s’all I’m saying.”Elias doesn’t dignify that with a response.





	Roguish

**Author's Note:**

> I had a dream about a couple of my dnd ocs, and it was distracting me from my other writing projects, so I decided to smash it out so I could focus on my actual, important works. Meet Elias, my tiefling rogue, and Simon, my halfling bard. They haven't gotten a lot of play time, but I love them very much. For the three or four of you that actually read this, please be kind to my sons, they deserve a break. This is a part of a much larger story (does anyone even have ocs without having a large, sprawling story? I think not) but I don't know when I'll get around to adding anything to it, honestly. Please enjoy, and give me some nice words, perhaps.

The cemetery is quiet, or as quiet as someplace desperately haunted can be so late at night.  Fog rolls over the ground as they tread carefully around ancient headstones, moss covered angels with broken wings watching with blank eyes, the names of the dead worn away with time.

 

Moonlight glints off the jewelry coiled around his horns, the rings stacked on his fingers, the necklaces tangling at his throat.  Simon likes to make fun, but all that silver has come in handy more often that either of them is comfortable with, so Elias doesn’t really mind. He toys idly with the pile of metal at his collarbones, lingering over one of the gemstones, a heavy amethyst that’s all but glowing with power— thrumming with a wordless warning Elias cannot heed.

 

_ There are monsters, brother, be wary. _

 

He knows, and he is, but tonight he must go forward.  The prize they seek is ahead, and it isn’t anything they can beg, borrow, or steal elsewhere.

 

It isn’t the only way for Elias to get what he wants, but it’s the closest at hand, and he is tired of coming up empty.

 

A raven calls ominously in the distance, as if on cue, and it’s so cliche he wants to roll his eyes.  Still, any unclaimed treasure is unclaimed for a reason, and Elias adjusts his bow on his back, and pointedly doesn’t dwell on that thought.

 

Restless spirits twist through the shadows out of sight, prickling on the edges of Elias’ magic, an awareness he’d be better off without.  He’s no necromancer, but the dead don’t know that, and they arch into his magic like cats seeking affection. His hand twitches towards his dagger, seeking out the protection of the runes etched in the blade without thinking, but stops himself.

 

There are things in the dark that will be more likely to let them pass without the threat of a knife in his palm.  Simon steps closer, and Elias edges in front of him, instinctively trying to protect him from the dangers ahead. The movement is subtle, inconspicuous, or so he thinks until Simon huffs a soft laugh.

 

“My knight in shining armor,” he says, a smile in his words, and Elias glares at everything and nothing in particular.

 

“I don’t even own armor,” Elias hisses, ducking under the low hanging branches of a tree, lifting some out of the way as he passes.  As soon as he steps forward he releases them, lets them snap back to smack Simon in the face. He’s rewarded with an indignant squawk as Simon’s tiny form scrambles free of the brush, cursing in Halfling under his breath.  He recovers quickly, shooting Elias a shit-eating grin, reaching out to tug the tattered hem of Elias’ jacket.

 

“Mmm, ‘knight in an ugly cloak’ doesn’t have quite the same ring to it,” Simon replies, and Elias adjusts his labels with a sniff.

 

“My cloak is not  _ ugly,  _ it’s  _ practical,  _ now will you please  _ stop talking _ so we don’t get eaten by the undead before we even get where we’re going?”

 

Simon stops talking.

 

Stops talking, and starts humming quietly, something slow and forlorn.  It takes a few bars for Elias to recognize the song, and he rolls his eyes, and sighs.

 

Simon’s humming a funeral dirge.

 

“You’re not half as funny as you think you are,” Elias mutters, and Simon snorts.

 

_ “Half  _ as funny, because that didn’t get old six months ago.  Your jokes are more worn out that that hideous jacket,” Simon retorts, picking up his humming without missing a beat.

 

Elias ignores him, eyes alert as they approach the castle ahead, a decaying behemoth that blots out the sky.  The towers are all rundown, roofs jagged and open, rafters exposed to the elements. It should have collapsed in on itself ages ago, and probably would have, if it weren’t for the treasure inside.

 

Objects laden with dark magic tended to do that, protect themselves from being lost forever, buried in the ruins of a castle or submerged in unfathomably deep oceans.  They didn’t want to be forgotten.

 

They wanted to be  _ used. _

 

Elias sidesteps a pair of skeletons at the foot of the stairs leading up to the entrance, where the rotting wooden door yawns open.  Just a crack, just wide enough to slip through, and Elias shares a dubious look with Simon, who shrugs.

 

“Saves us a lockpick, yeah?”  His optimism is forced, drenched with sarcasm, but that’s to be expected.

 

He sighs and heads inside, eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.  They’re standing in a vast parlor, something that might once have been a ballroom.  High ceilings, and broken stained glass, a perilous looking stone stairway curving up to the second floor.  The marble under their feet is covered in dust. Littered with chunks of rock, and broken furniture. A piece of a chandelier, the remnants of a tankard.

 

A disembodied jawbone.  A pile of ribs. A smattering of bloodstains, one of them smearing off down a hall.

 

Something uneasy settles in his chest, and Elias goes still, and silent.  He reaches back thoughtlessly, muscle memory guiding him, hand closing over Simon’s shoulder.  Reassuring himself that he’s there, a steady presence at his back, and he takes a breath, and lets it out slow.

 

“Hey, it’s empty, right?”  Simon says, picking up on Elias’ discomfort.  “Coven said the points aren’t even here anymore, that this is a goose chase.”

 

“They’re wrong.  They’re definitely here,” Elias says, and knows he right.  He can feel it, the magic calling out to him, a siren’s song.  “And how is that supposed to make me feel better, anyway,” he continues, looking anywhere but at Simon, “if we’d come all this way for nothing?”

 

“Mmm, point.  But if there’s nothing here worth guarding, maybe there’s no  _ guard,  _ s’all I’m saying.”

 

Elias doesn’t dignify that with a response.

 

Before long they’re standing at the top of a different staircase, this one leading deep into the belly of the castle.  The way is pitch black, cold air billowing up from the darkness, Elias’ eyes lighting up violet as he tries to pierce through the shadows.

 

“We’re going down,” Elias says with grim determination, and Simon grins, and summons a ball of light in his palm.

 

“We always are,” he replies.  He’s not wrong, but there isn’t anything else to say.

 

No other way but down.

 

And so they go.

 

-

 

They make their way through labyrinthine corridors for what feels like hours, backtracking at dead ends, marking their path with runes etched in the bricks.  Simon lets his light spell flicker out, drawing three magelight stones from his pack and spelling them instead. 

 

Elias knows he only did it so he can juggle them, but he can’t even summon up any annoyance, not buried so deep in the earth that the air is thin and stifling.  The walls have narrowed considerably the further they get, to a claustrophobic degree, and he clenches his fists, and refuses to panic. 

 

Simon is humming again, something soulful Elias has listened to him sing a hundred times before, a campfire blazing between them as they make camp.  Simon doesn’t need to pull out his fiddle, doesn’t need to open his mouth. The song plays in Elias’ head unprompted, Simon’s voice drawling over the words, low and sultry.  Elias hears the soft sound of Simon juggling, watches the light play out in front of him, his shadow dancing wildly as the stones rise and fall. It’s soothing, and Elias’ heartbeat evens out from its frantic pace, eases into something less dire.

 

Simon does that more and more lately, eases Elias into something less dire.  He doesn’t even pretend to hate it anymore.

 

Stepping out of the tunnel and into a cavern is enough of a surprise that Elias’ steps falter, and Simon stumbles into him from behind, mage stones falling in a noisy clatter.  The moment they hit the the ground there is a whooshing sound, and torches on the walls flare to life one by one. It starts next to their heads, firelight slowly snaking around the space in wide circle, until the whole space is illuminated in a weak yellow glow.  The only other door is on the opposite side of the cavern, and it’s troublingly large. He doesn’t want to think about what needs a door like that. Elias catches Simon’s eye, wary and uncertain, but Simon just shrugs and steps further into room.

 

Onto a pressure plate, which shifts under his feet, a rune flashing angry red in its center.  A moment later there is a booming sound, following by another, and another. Realization dawns quickly, and they share a look, Elias’ mouth drawn in a thin line, Simon’s brows furrowed.

 

The sound is loud enough that small rocks are falling from overhead, heavy enough that they can feel the vibrations in the ground.

 

They’re footsteps, and they’re moving closer.

 

Elias grits his teeth, and shakes his head, pointing an accusing finger at Simon.

 

“If your stupidity gets me killed, I swear I’ll-”

 

“You’ll what,” Simon interrupts, grinning through his nerves, “haunt me?  Curse me? Come back to life, and kill me yourself?”

 

Elias sighs.

 

He crouches down, cupping Simon’s face in his hands.  Lets his fingers trail through the russet tangle of Simon’s hair, and runs a thumb over his lips, smiling.

 

“I’ll miss you terribly until you join me in the underworld,” he says, so fond it hurts, and kisses him.  It’s messy, and wet, and familiar.

 

Kissing Simon is like coming home.

 

Then Elias stands, and unstraps his bow.  He nocks an arrow without drawing, waiting, listening to the footsteps pound closer.  Simon has his throwing knives out, and he’s whispering a spell Elias can’t quite make out.  The lilt of his magic is comforting, and Elias is grateful for it. Something monstrous emerges from the darkness across the cavern.

 

No other way but forward.

 

And so they go.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
